


A Good, Mean, Dog

by AbsinthexMind



Series: The Princess and the Hound [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cersei may be a bad person but she loves her babies, F/M, Falling In Love, House Baratheon, I can always write another story with Sandor smut anyway, I've been dying to write something for the Hound because he is bae, Joffrey is a major cunt, Protective Sandor Clegane, Rescue, There was supposed to be some smut, baratheon!reader, bonding time with uncle tyrion, but I decided to end the story where I did, tommen is such a cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsinthexMind/pseuds/AbsinthexMind
Summary: The Princess and the Hound. What a story that would be.





	A Good, Mean, Dog

You gaze up at your ever radiant mother. To all of Westeros she was a great beauty and to her enemies, a force to be reckoned with. Regardless, Cersei Lannister was your mother. She showed contempt for everyone except her children. Call the woman what you will, but Cersei loved her children fiercely. Including you, the only dark haired child among heads covered with fine, golden hair. The only sign that you had come out of Cersei’s womb were your vivid green eyes; Lannister green. You would’ve liked the golden hair of your siblings, then you wouldn’t get odd looks when all four of you were together. None were more scrutinizing than the ones that were received from your uncle Jaime. There appeared to be a question in those emerald pools of his, a question he never verbally asked. He’d offer you distant smiles then would go about his business. Because of this standoffish behavior you preferred your stunted uncle Tyrion, much to your mother’s chagrin. He was much more kinder than Jaime. Your mother didn’t like you spending so much time around her dwarf brother. She told you many times if you wanted to learn something to go to Maester Pycelle, not you drunken uncle. You didn’t like Pycelle for various reasons; one of them being that it always looked like his wrinkled gaze was concentrated on your bosom. Besides, you were looking for a surrogate father-figure. Much like your mother, Robert Baratheon treated all his children equally in the manner that he didn’t pay you any mind either. He wasn’t the fathering type which unfortunately led the terror that is known as Joffrey, run wild and for you to try and fill the void. Cersei claimed very often that Tyrion killed her mother, your grandmother, but you knew that Tyrion didn’t do it knowingly. He had been just a newborn. Newborns didn’t spring from the womb with a dagger in hand. Your mother, you knew, was very stubborn and unreasonable. 

In the dark cellars under the Red Keep, you found yourself exploring with your uncle as he showed you a room filled with skulls. Not human skulls though; dragons. They varied in size and there were a few that you could hold in your hand. 

“As the centuries went on, the Targaryens chained their dragons up. But dragons need freedom and large areas in order to grow. Without those, the dragons that were able to hatch never grew any larger than a cat.” Tyrion waddled beside you as your fingers felt the smoothness of the skull. With torch in hand he ventured further until you came across a dragon skull that nearly reached the ceiling. You stare at it in awe. “Now that, my dear, is Balerion. They called him the Black Dread. He was the largest dragon to ever live in Westeros. Do you recall the other two dragons which rode with him to battle?” 

You think for a moment. “Meraxes and. . . I want to say the other starts with a ‘V’. Um. . . Vhagar?” 

Tyrion nods. “Very good.” 

“If his skull was this big, imagine his wing span!” You grin which makes Tyrion smile at your enthusiasm. Growing sad at the thought that you would never see a live dragon with your own eyes, you put down the small skull that you had been holding. “Why didn’t they see that captivity was killing them?” 

Tyrion regards you kindly and pats your hand. “Because men are selfish creatures. Without dragons, the Targaryens were just like everyone else.” Leading you out of the dark room, you wince at the light. 

“Balerion was the one who forged the Iron Throne, right?” 

“That is correct.” You continued to speak of dragons, enjoying your leisurely stroll with your uncle. That is until you bumped into your brother. 

“You shouldn’t waste your time with the likes of the Imp, sweet sister.” In a condescending manner, Joffrey looks down at his uncle. “Shouldn’t you be in a whore house drunk off your dwarf ass? I’m surprised you’re still sober.” Joff sneers, his lips curling in an unflattering manner while his sworn sword looms behind him like a menacing shadow. The Hound, they called him. Your brother’s loyal dog. There was only one other man who stood taller than Sandor Clegane and that was his brother Gregor whom was called the Mountain for that reason. They were both equally terrifying; Gregor more so than his younger brother. 

“That’s not very polite Joffrey. You are to be future king and a king should not speak like such a rotten brat.” Scowling at your younger brother you wished your mother had had the nerve to spank him to correct his terrible attitude. However, Joffrey was her golden son; one who could do no harm. She was blind to the monster he was. 

His cheeks turn red. Now he’s glaring at you. “Once I’m king I can do whatever I want. Remember that. I won’t have to listen to a stupid woman like you.” 

Fingers twitching, you took a step forward. He instinctively backs away, fear shining in the pools of moss that were his eyes. Joffrey knew you weren’t afraid to strike him. You had done it once before, but your mother quickly gave you a good scolding. 

“I-I’ll tell mother.” He squeaks. 

“Go ahead. She’ll tell father and he’ll just laugh at you again.” You noticed Sandor watching with slight amusement at the altercation. You wondered if he would try to stop you if you went through with slapping him. 

Your uncle clears his throat. “Now children, we must learn to get along.” He holds your hand and gazes at you warmly with his mismatched eyes. “Thank you for defending me, but I can handle Joffrey’s quips. I’m sure your mother would not be pleased to find out that her children were quarreling again.” 

“Uncle. . .” 

Tyrion kisses the back of your hand. “I must go. I have other business to attend to.” He glances back at Joffrey and the Hound before he leaves. 

“What is there to possibly talk about anyway with that misshapen creature?” Joffrey spat. 

You shoot him a withering glare. Without answering you turn on your heels in a huff and walk away. But that’s not the end of it. Joffrey continues to follow you. 

“I wasn’t done talking to you.” 

“Well I was. What’s wrong? Don’t you have some poor animal to mutilate?” You say over your shoulder. He must be bored. And a bored Joffrey is never a good thing. 

Ever the loyal dog, Sandor follows after Joffrey as the blonde haired prince continues to pester you. When Joffrey opens his mouth to reply you cut him off. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of following him around like that?” You address the question towards Sandor, completely ignoring your brother. 

Instead of letting Sandor answer, Joffrey pipes up. “He’s my dog. He’ll do whatever I say without complaint. I think he’ll even hit you if I told him to.” You knew it was meant as a threat but you let out a loud scoff making Joff turn red again. 

“They must pay you an awful lot to follow around a twat like my brother.” You hear Joffrey inhale sharply as the Hound lets out a chuckle. You knew you shouldn’t have said that word out loud, it wasn’t lady-like. If your mother heard you say it she’d know immediately where you learned it from and would probably ban your Uncle Tyrion from the Red Keep. 

You look over your shoulder and smirk at your brother’s fish-like expression. “Perhaps you should be wearing the sigil of House Tully, Joff. You look like a trout right now.” 

If looks could kill you were sure you’d be dead already. It gave you immense pleasure to see the utter hate on your brother’s face. Head held high in triumph, you left him to fume.  
  
  
*  
  
  


“(y/n)!” 

You’re surprised at who is calling you. Robert Baratheon is outside enjoying the weather while under the shade of an awning. You try to ease the look of shock off your face. “Yes father?” 

A meaty hand motions for you to where he is. You’d heard that your father used to be incredibly handsome. Now, however, you found it hard to believe. His face grew red at the simplest of physical tasks and his large belly showed how much he enjoyed the finer things in life. 

Several Gold Cloaks, including your Uncle Jaime surrounded him. The only time King Robert was ever alone was when he was with his whores. 

You flush at the thought when you approach him. He looks up at you with deep blue eyes; Baratheon eyes. “Good gods where has the time gone. You’re a grown woman now. Your mother used to turn heads as well.” Whenever he spoke of his wife it always held a scornful undertone. “You didn’t even notice, did you?” 

Your eyebrows scrunch. “Notice what?” 

He laughs. “Bling and beautiful. Many men would value that in a woman.” 

Anger licked the walls of your stomach. He knew nothing about you. You were definitely not blind. You knew what he did behind closed doors. 

King Robert points to where you had just been. There were a few guards walking about. Nothing unusual about that. “They were staring you down like a succulent piece of meat.” 

You blush and that makes him laugh louder. Fingers curling into your palm, you continued to feel ridiculed by him. 

_’Blind and beautiful.’_

“Best way to stop that is by marrying you off. You’re old enough for marriage, right?” 

_’Fat bastard doesn’t even know how old I am.’_

You nod. 

He settles back into his cushions and takes a long gulp from his chalice. Wine dribbles down onto his beard. “Been thinking about setting you up with Ned Stark’s eldest boy. I think he’s about your age. Your mother wouldn’t have it though. Says it’s not necessary to marry two children off to Starks.” Robert Baratheon shakes his head. “What does she know?” 

You’d have to thank your mother later. You didn’t want to go to the north. You’d heard how cold it gets over there and how dreary it was. 

Robert heaves a sigh. “Children are such a hassle.” 

_’Then why are you talking to me?’_

“Off you go then. Be more wary of your surroundings next time.” He pats you on the shoulder and shoos you away. Sadness enters his speech. “Wouldn’t want you to end up like Lyanna.” 

Yes. Lyanna. The woman he still yearned for after all this time. The one he’d started a war for. 

Kidnapped, raped, and killed. 

Definitely wouldn’t want to end up like her. You left your father so that he could gorge himself on more wine and food.  
  
  
  


You bounced slightly on top of your mare, smiling as you heard Myrcella squeal in delight. Watching as she had her horse take another jump, her gold tresses flying in the breeze. Under a grove of trees your mother clapped. She looked even more lovely when she genuinely smiled. Tommen followed behind Myrcella on his pony. The bars had to be lowered since the pony couldn’t jump too high. You and your sister cheer for your baby brother as he jumps the hurdle. Joffrey rolls his eyes while on his own mount. 

“That was nothing.” He scoffs and to prove his point he has the stable hands set them at the highest bar. He jumps them easily and grins cockily. You pretend that you didn’t see and continue to lavish Tommen with praise. 

“You’re going to be a great joister Tommen!” Myrcella chimes in. 

Tommen’s round face blushes, but he’s smiling from ear to ear. You wished Joffrey had turned out like Tommen. Your youngest brother was to sweet for words and you loved him dearly. Every so often you would wake up to find him curled up beside you in your bed. 

“Yes, I can see it now! I bet you’ll unhorse Uncle Jaime some day.” You nod. 

“He’s too fat to joist!” Joffrey argued, hating that the attention wasn’t on him. 

That’s when Cersei spoke up. “Don’t say mean things like that Joff. He’s your brother.” 

Upset he got off his horse and stomped off to the sidelines, not before fixing a glare toward you. 

You wanted to stick your tongue out at him, but your mother was in sight. So, instead you had your mare trot tauntingly in front of him. “Don’t be like that Joff. You’re just cranky. I think you’re overdue for your nap.” You turned Blue Moon away from him. Perhaps it was your own fault for antagonizing him further then turning your back on him, but the next thing you knew you heard something hit your horse; making her shriek and rear up on her hind legs. You hear your mother scream as you struggle to regain control of Blue Moon. Once she has all four hooves back on the ground she’s charging blindly in all directions and scaring the other horses. 

All around you became a blur and as you duck your head trying to stay on her. You catch more of your mother screaming for someone to help you. Galloping beside you, you’re able to discern them as the Hound. He makes a grab for your horse’s reins and curses when he can’t reach. On top of his own horse he lunges again and successfully grabs hold. Blue Moon resists at first until other stable boys go to calm her down. Sandor’s strong arms lift you out of your saddle like you weighed nothing and sat you in front of him on his own horse. 

“You’re alright now.” He whispers to you. 

You didn’t even realize you had been shaking until your back pressed against his chest. Thick arms cage you in as he turns his horse around to where your mother and siblings stood. Alarmed guards had also flocked to the yard, quite useless as they were now. The Hound gets off first and helps you down. You look at his face, his dark eyes making your skin heat up. The scar that plagued the right side of his face in full view as he made sure you were safely on your feet. You felt like a doll when he handled you. 

Cersei rushes to you, fear having drained the color on her face. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?” If only everyone else could see this side of your mother. The fretting hen. Next to her, Myrcella looked to be on the verge of tears. 

Urging a smile onto your face you say “I’m fine mother, thanks to Sandor.” You shoot him a grateful smile that has him turning his face away. He mumbled something incoherent and went back to where Joffrey stood. Joff’s nose scrunches and he turns away. 

You notice your mom staring after Joffrey as well, her face unreadable before she turns back to you. Her palm cups your cheek. “Let’s go inside for the evening.” 

Obediently you follow her back inside.  


After supper you made your way back to your room, tired after what had happened that day. Behind you are the subtle sounds of footsteps thumping behind you. You half expected it to be Tommen but they sound too heavy. 

“Here to escort me to my room?” You ask once you see it was the Hound. “Might as well. I’m partly worried that Joffrey will pop up from the shadows and kill me.” 

“So you knew it was him.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. He had seen Joffrey throw a rock at Blue Moon’s rear. You hadn’t seen him do it yourself, but you had expected as much. When you nod Sandor growls. “That little cunt.” 

You chuckle. “Careful. Don’t want anyone to hear you call the future king that.” 

“What a terrible king he’ll be.” 

“Gods help us all.” Like last time when you smile up at him he turns his face away so that you saw the side of his face that was damaged. “Thank you again for today. Really, you saved me while everyone else was scratching their ass.” 

Sandor laughs. “A lady like you shouldn’t use words like that. You’re a princess.” 

“Would that make you my knight in shining armor?” 

That perpetual brooding face of his returns as he looks at you with serious eyes. “I’m no knight.” 

“No. I suppose you’re not. You’re better than a knight. You’re a dog.” 

He appears taken aback by your statement. You didn’t know why but his confused expression had your heart pounding. When you reach your room you bid him good night, not before asking him what he wanted in return for saving you. 

“I don’t want nothin’.” He merely says. 

Why was your heart racing? “Not even a kiss from a maiden fair?” You partly said it as a joke, half hoping he’d actually want to kiss you. 

He eyes you warily, unsure of how to respond. “This isn’t a face made for kissing maidens.” 

You knew many others in his position would take up the offer in seconds. Either he didn’t find you attractive of he truly wanted you to preserve your virtue. Trying to hide your disappointment you shrug your shoulders. “Suit yourself. My offer still stands whenever you want it though.” 

Alone in your room you slump to the ground, your hands touching your burning face. 

The Princess and the Hound. What a story that would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Toward the middle of this story I started suffering from a slight case of carpal tunnel. I really wanted to finish this so I pushed through the pain. Whoops ^^' Anyway I hope yall enjoyed. Now to wait two more years for the next season of Game of Thrones and who knows how much longer for the Winds of Winter -.-'


End file.
